


I Never Thought We Would End Up Like This

by doctormissy



Series: Prompt Fills and Challenge Entries [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mission Fic, POV Q, Post-SPECTRE, Prompt Fill, Slash, South Africa, Undercover as a Couple, also a bit of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Q are undercover as a married gay couple for a mission in South Africa. What could go wrong, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Thought We Would End Up Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [transbandfandomnerd](http://transbandfandomnerd.tumblr.com/) as a prompt fill. It was supposed to be short, fluffy and cracky, but it somehow got out of my hands and ended up 6,1K-words long. Oh well. Despite everyting, I am quite proud for this work.  
> The prompt was: “I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately.”
> 
> Title taken from my 2nd-favourite song, 'I Won't Give In' by Asking Alexandria (yeah, again). I was listening to them while thinking the title up and thought it perfect and fitting. Favourite song ever is 'The Black' by AA as well, btw. Not that good for fic titles.

Today is the big day. The ‘observation and infiltration’ part of 007 and Q’s common mission in South Africa is over after three weeks of trying to get into Walter Rodney’s attention – they finally got the surviving member of SPECTRE who is in charge of all media, the secret service, surveillance systems and even half of internet in four south-African countries to trust them and invite them for dinner at his highly secured mansion. 

His network used to be connected to Blofeld’s directly, but now when Bond blown the chief building into pieces, Rodney is the one in control of half of the world, and that makes it even more dangerous and urgent to cut off. It is a literal kingdom of computers and servers inside and that is Q’s area of expertise, which is the reason he had to go with 007. 

He is sure he could manage to turn it off using his laptop, sitting inside his flat in London and he still does not see the necessity of his presence right there, as Mallory commanded so. Not that he does not enjoy a holiday in Africa’s southest and coldest country while playing married gay couple with James Bond – that he does, despite the long flight and the fact _he is playing married gay couple with James Bond_ , as if there weren’t any available female operative who would volunteer for the task. 

He doesn’t complain, in spite of everything. He used to, the first week they arrived in Cape Town, about the food, slow internet connection or Bond’s behaviour, yet then he understood there is nothing he could do with any of that and reconciled himself with the fact he is stuck in there for some time. At least there are two separate bedrooms in the hotel they are staying at. 

Oddly enough, no catastrophe or explosion intentionally caused by the agent has occurred yet and he is glad for that. Q thinks that perhaps it is only because he is there with Bond and thus he can monitor every each of his steps and actions and Bond very well knows how much Q hates when his expensive equipment is destroyed. Bond does not want to infuriate his husband, now does he? Q is willing to play this game as long as Bond acts according to his and M’s instructions – which he does so far. He isn’t even that self-indulgent and cheeky when accompanied by the Quartermaster, which is unusually often. They sometimes play poker or scrabble in their free time, if Q coerces Bond to do so. He is good at that, although he does not fully understand why. Perhaps it’s something about his determined, convincing and persistent personality or what.

 ~~Q might admit he actually likes Bond a little. He likes the way he looks when he walks, he likes his bright blue eyes. He likes that smile he always gives Q when he wins a round of cards and he so wants to know how those lips taste when he kisses him.~~ No, Q definitely does not have a crush on James Bond. He does not. And he definitely does not wish the mission wasn’t over in few days. He never would.

 

Q shudders on a dark brown suit jacket tailored for him and buttons it, looking in the large mirror with golden frame hanging on one of his bedroom’s walls, just above a fireplace. He sighs deeply, questioning the necessity of such outfit for a simple dinner, fixes his slightly dishevelled hair and walks to the bed where a TARDIS-blue (saying he is a huge fan of Doctor Who is an understatement) tie lies, ready to be tied round his slim neck. He takes it and goes in front of the mirror again, when he hears four blunt knocks on the door. He looks in direction of so, knowing exactly who the person behind it is, and invites Bond in, however he wishes for no one’s company at this moment. “Do come in, Bond.” Q’s voice is melodic and concentrated, not showing even a trace of uncertainty. He does not realise he puts the-Quartermaster-of-MI6 tone on.

The door opens slowly and Q continues to pay attention to his cravat instead of looking at the older man, who enters Q’s bedroom without making a sound and sneaks behind Q. He sees it all in the mirror anyway, and he must admit that Bond looks astonishingly to the last bit in his dove dinner jacket and trousers of the same colour tight round his worked-out physique. He does not look. He does not blush when he sees Bond approach him and stand inches away, offering him assistance because Q gets nervous in the end and can’t even tie a bloody tie. He abruptly cannot recall where does the loose end actually belong and his fingers somehow become entangled.

“Do you need my help with that, Quartermaster?” the Double-Oh purrs, stepping in front of Q. He disables Q to see his own reflection so he had to accept the fact that Bond isn’t giving up or going anywhere else. He does not wait for Q’s answer, which is following, “Thank you, 007, but I can perfectly manage this on my own, there’s no need for you to help me.” 

Q feels Bond’s hands on the tie brushing against his chest and neck lightly before he even finishes the respond. The action makes Q’s heart skip a beat. For a moment, when Bond’s face is dangerously close to his, it almost stops completely. He forgets to breath—and then Bond pulls away, smiles – genuinely, this time – and stands next to Q, their shoulders nearly touching. They both look at their images in the looking glass dressed in unnecessarily expensive festive clothes, standing beside each other, cutting a fine figure. One would believe they truly are a very nice couple of rich, snobbish husbands who so much belong in this society stratum. 

“Shall we go, Q? It’s time,” Bond reminds the Quartermaster and looks him in the eye with a look prompting him to go. Q notices Bond puts his hands behind his back and links his fingers together. 

Q still isn’t sure about what they are doing; they are about to go to a terrorist’s mansion with the most advanced security systems one could see for a dinner under the pretence of business talks while the actual purpose of their mission is stealing a flash drive containing all data about Rodney’s secret basement, software running it and also how to hack into it and destroy it from inside after all. But all he does is nod and murmur, “Of course. Let’s go.” There is no place for uncertainty; it is no less of a mission of importance, only this time Q does not run the comms and guide Bond through the building but does thus mere metres away from the agent. Moreover, he does it all himself. This is his mission.

Both of the men stride out of their suite and the hotel itself, looking confident, and get on a black limousine already waiting for them at the kerb. It’s one of Rodney’s. 

 

The driver takes them to a large and indeed pretentious villa at the suburbs – the ride takes more than an hour –, where an usher presents them in and escorts them to the dining room. It’s even more spectacular inside the house, and they see the hallways only. It’s looks as though they were walking the corridors of the Windsor Castle, it crosses the Quartermaster’s mind. 

Bond immediately notices security cameras in every corner of the room and hallways and several bodyguards guarding chambers no one is supposed to enter under a threat of nothing less than death, he is sure of that. He stays vigilant for the entire time they walk, as his brain of a spy automatically kicks in, trying to remember as many detail that may prove useful later. 

However, guards and cameras are the least of his problems at the moment. Priority no. 1 is to find out the flash drive’s location and let Q take it, unnoticed. He is certain the Quartermaster can cope with the task with all bravery, but it still is highly dangerous and he hates to put his precious darling equipment-provider in jeopardy. But he can’t go grab the drive himself either, because that would mean leaving Q alone with the terrorists and he really can’t allow that to happen; it might actually be more dangerous than the task the young boffin is to fulfil. It is how they have planned it up, and Q’s plans always work out perfectly, so he has nothing to fear of.

Once they are inside, Q can get into the computer network via IPs and ascertain all he needs; it’s a child’s play then. Everyone with basic knowledge of hacking and nets could do it. Q did things like this since he has been a child. 

 

They are seated at a large, golden table vis-à-vis the owners who already wait for them and a servant dishes out hors-d’oeuvres immediately. 

Mr Rodney is a middle-aged man with hair greying at the sides, round, featureless face one could see everywhere and an accretive belly that strained his white shirt a bit in the lower abdomen area. He certainly does not look as a terrorist aiming for the figurative throne over the world.

His wife is beautiful, with light brown skin and dark hair, only slightly younger than him and she smiles, so she does not look as a terrorist’s wife either. She is wearing a long, crimson dress and a lot of make-up on her face. Exactly the type of a pretty married woman Bond usually has to bed to get them to trust him and tell him crucial information. 

Bond and Q introduce themselves and so do the Rodneys afterwards. 

They talk about rather boring subjects as business, the profitable insurance company Bond and Q are supposed to work for, weather or how do the Oakleys (the alias Bond and Q use as their surname) like their stay in the Republic of South Africa. Q pulls out his phone in the meantime, launches a full scan of the building and gets in Rodney’s own private server after bypassing few security protocols and firewalls. From there he can reach any file, download maps of the mansion secret passages and offices included and, what’s of the biggest importance, check the CCTV cameras’ records to discover the drive’s location. 

When it comes to the main course, Q already has everything he needed analysed and excuses himself to the bathroom. He does not try even a bite of the food – he does not trust anyone in there. One of the servants goes with him to show him where the toilet is found. He thanks her and the moment he knows she is gone he rushes to the last cubicle, locks the door and leans against it. He hacks the cameras, turns them off and sets an infinite loop showing empty corridors – that way, the security doesn’t notice anything happening at all. He is also aware of all bodyguards’ positions, so he knows where not to go and which corridors to use as shortcuts. He needs to get to one place for sure – the staircase. It would be too risky to take the lift, someone unwanted might notice, and that was not something Q, or Bond for that matter, needed. 

He displays a map of the whole mansion on his mobile’s screen and brushes up on the way he needs to go. He counted all the guards and remembered the places they stand at as well as Bond to avoid any inconveniences caused by being caught. 

He is scared, of course he is. More than that time in Altausee when he was afraid of being kidnapped on the cable railway; and that he has reasons to be. This mission is certainly more dangerous and the fact it is an _actual field mission and he does an agent’s work right now_ does not help calming his furiously beating heart. In spite of his composed expression, he is very very nervous. He never did anything like this before and he hopes he will never have to again. This is the last time he goes somewhere further than England for sure.

The Quartermaster shoves the mobile into his pocket once he is sure he knows precisely where to go, unlocks the cubicle’s wooden door and steps out. There is no one in the corridor where the toilets are, luckily. He looks round to assure himself it is indeed true and sets off for the end of the corridor. He strides apace. At the end, he turns right to another bodyguard-less hallway leading round the kitchens. 

Q hears someone coming his way, thus he crouches behind a conveniently placed plant, waits till they pass and continues on his way toward a door at the very end of a service passage. 

If this is what his agents have to do every time—he cannot imagine ever repeating such action and he suddenly values his job of the Quartermaster more. How can they do it for living? However, he also realises how important their job is and reminds himself to remind himself of this every time he navigates an operative into premises as this or ones hiding bigger dangers. Experiencing such thing on his own changes Q’s perspective of a spy’s job significantly. 

He successfully gets to the big door and pushes it open. It reveals another dark corridor and a narrow staircase leading both upstairs and downstairs. Q takes a deep breath, switches the light on his mobile on and goes down carefully. He sincerely hopes no one will decide to walk instead of using the lift and keeps moving. He must get to the fifth underground level, Rodney’s office. That’s where the crucial flash drive is, according the camera records from two days ago. Saying that the fate of the entire human race may depend on it would be a surprisingly accurate description. 

Q finally reaches the required position and orders himself to calm down, thinking of his favourite song in order to help him with so. Yet anyway, he copes with the task with all braveness and serenity; he wonders at himself how is that even possible – he sometimes finds even his job of the Quartermaster stressing, especially when he has to face a hacker attack. 

He leans against the wall for few seconds before he opens the door and faces the _difficult_ part of his task. This is something completely different from sitting behind the screen of his laptop in his office at Q-Branch or developing brand-new weapons and cars. In few moments, he is doing something to help keeping the world’s freedom and safety intact – nothing new, but this is the first time he does it with his hands and not via the comms. It’s like when the Doctor shut Ms Kizlet’s organisation down and dismantled her Wi-Fi network, he tells himself. He is saving lives here, and not in the Double-Oh way, by killing and torturing. This time it’s done _his_ way. Minus the stealing.

He straightens himself, turns the assistive light off and takes a resolve to enter the corridor leading to Rodney’s office. This time he has to enter a password to open it, which is the easiest part of all this. He encloses the smartphone he pulled out again to the code-entering device, the deciphering programme calculates all combinations possible for few moments and then the device lights up in green and allows Q to enter. 

The space behind the door is not dark anymore; on the contrary, it’s unpleasantly white from the fluorescent lamps. Q can see opaque glass walls bordering the corridor and vague ultra-modern offices and laboratories as they have at MI6 behind them. All of them are empty at the moment, which Q of course knows, but it is strange seeing it with his own eyes. Something is off – there isn’t a single soul typing code in the keyboard or monitoring course of events in the outside world, which several of the screens doubtlessly show. There is nothing more than a surveillance camera in every room. Q disabled them all, yet anyway, the fact makes Q a little bit more nervous. However, his pace quickens sans his awareness. 

He has to take the drive and go away as fast as he can; it is suspicious that he is gone for so long already. He has to excuse it for digestive troubles, for which he is quite sure Bond will laugh at him, because a Double-Oh always has better excuses. But Q has not time to think of such things when he is busy with his own little operation. 

Earlier, he discovered the chief’s office is the fourth on the left, which is where he goes. There is another security system requiring a password on the door. Therefore, Q uses the same programme he did before one more time. As he gets inside, he runs to the desk and starts to rummage through all drawers, until he concludes the flash drive must be in one of the locked ones. He is surprised he did not come to that sooner. There is no key available – of course there isn’t, that would be too easy. Ergo, Q is forced to use the less efficient way of getting into locked places, a pin. 

He is always ready, so it is no surprise he has got one with him. One never knows when a situation it might come in handy in occurs. He, in fact, has a whole survival kit in his jacket’s inner pocket. 

He pulls the small case out of the pocket and unzips it to take a safety pin he is about to use to gradually open all drawers until he finds the bloody flash drive. 

He does not have to do so for very long. The desired drive is curiously enough located in the first drawer from the top. It looks like an ordinary 64-gigabyte drive with grey, metallic case and no sign on it. Q holds it in his hand, twiddling with it for few seconds before he shoves it in the case between a small revolver of his own making and travel suture set. Then he closes the kit, pockets it and sets back for the dining room. He hopes he remembers the way correctly and must not forget to go back to the toilet, since everyone is expecting him to arrive from its direction. He can enable the cameras now. 

Bond should be proud of his Quartermaster for what he has just executed. 

If this was the difficult part, now comes the most difficult one – plugging the drive in his laptop and sitting at it for hours in order to dispose of its contents after using it to dispose of the underground surveillance centre and everything connected to it. Or, as the case may be, in several hours, after they get out of this high-hat hell alive and return to England. 

Q sneaks in the bathroom stealthy and unsighted. He goes back to Bond and the Rodneys. He checks his watch and sees he’s been away for 14 minutes. It could have been worse. Before he opens the heavy wooden door to the dining room he takes a deep breath, cracks a shy smile and orders himself to look as calm and casual as possible. As if he only went to the bathroom and didn’t steal the most important flash drive in South Africa. 

He pushes the large door open at last, but what he sees behind them he thinks he would never see – in those 14 minutes Q was gone Bond managed to move closer to the pair, drink a whole bottle of Champagne with them and, what was the oddest of all, laugh – really laugh – at something one of them said as if they were old friends and not the Queen and Country’s _enemies_. 

Q freezes in the door for a jiff, shocked by the sight. Yes, he knows very well it is only a game of getting in their favour before they are gone forever and see them maximally behind the bars, yet anyway, he never actually saw Bond like this, looking _happy_ for what he was concerned. That is what has shocked him. 

He wishes he were there to know what has made Bond laugh like that. 

In that moment, Bond notices Q’s comeback and looks his direction; the smile never leaving his face and eyes. “Where were you so long, Andrew dear?” he asks, as Q approaches the table. 

It flusters Q when he hears Bond say his real name, but then he remembers they are a married couple for this mission, so it would be strange if Bond called him Q, and pretends he doesn’t register the tone in Bond’s voice when he asks the question. Q does not answer until he sits at the table next to Bond. He leans closer to the agent and says, loud enough for the Rodneys to hear, “Ah, I only had some inconvenient digestive troubles, I guess I ate something bad. Everything is fine now.” He leans even closer to him and presses a soft, brief kiss under Bond’s jaw. He can smell his aftershave and the typical wine odour. Not only he can afford to show such unashamed affections towards Bond, but he rather should be doing it for better plausibility of the entire couple pretence. 

He rather does not think of what he just did or he will regret it; nor he shifts his gaze from the Rodneys to Bond to see his expression, although seeing the Double-Oh wearing that sweet smile is a pleasure for his eyes, he must say. He pushes that thought out of his mind quickly and gets back to reality.

 

‘Everything is fine now’ is their secret code for ‘I have the drive and everything went well’. If it did not go well, Q was supposed to say ‘everything is perfectly alright now’, that way would 007 know that he has to start running like hell. Thankfully, performance of nothing like that is requisite.

Yet still, they should refrain from staying for too long. If Rodney finds out about the stolen drive before they are long gone from Africa and back in London, who knows what might happen. However enjoyable the evening and delicious the food is, they can’t risk being caught and have to go back to the hotel. They only have one night left before they fly back, debrief and dismantle Rodney’s network. Thinking of, Q must call Moneypenny and Tanner once they are at the hotel and tell him to book the first direct flight to London. 

Q leans into Bond again, silently whispering in his left ear, “We have the drive, now we should go, don’t you think?” His warm breath pleasantly tickles on Bond’s skin and sends shivers down his spine, of which Q of course doesn’t – and mustn’t – know. 

“You’re absolutely right, staying for longer than necessary would be reckless,” Bond whispers back. As he pulls away, he smiles and explains, “I was just telling my husband what he missed when he wasn’t here.” Nevertheless, the Rodney’s don’t pay attention to them at all at the moment and are sipping the wine (that Bond drugged with strong sleeping pills), talking of something not intended for Bond and Q to hear. Mrs Rodney only waves her hand at it and says she is sure about that with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She is in fact a very nice lady and Q doesn’t understand how she could marry such horrible person as Walter Rodney (who looks significantly annoyed the entire time except for the part when Q enters the room and sees him laughing). 

Bond pulls his mobile out of his pocket pretending he got a text and pockets it. Q promptly asks with all concern and sincerity recognisable in his expression, “What’s wrong, James?” It is strange hearing the sound of Bond’s first name coming out of his mouth. Q is clever, so he minds what he says and he knows he can’t call him Bond the same way Bond calls him Andrew in front of other people. 

Bond announces aloud, both to Q and the couple opposite them, “I just got a message saying there’s an urgent situation at work and I’m very sorry because we’re having a really great time, but we should go.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame, it is a rather enjoyable evening and the food is amazing. Is it necessary for us to go?” Q adds, contributing to the theatre they are playing, making the whole scene more believable. He slowly starts to get the whole point of the Double-Ohs and their everlasting calmness, whatever situation they find themselves in. He is the same when it comes to running Q-Branch and dealing with everything that occurs, however strange or improbable it may be. 

Does Q actually start to enjoy the whole undercover thing? 

“I’m afraid so, dear,” Bond replies, putting on a solemn face. He turns to the couple, “I apologise, but the director of our company’s local branch office said we have to turn up immediately. If you excuse us—once again, it’s a sad coincidence.” He already pushes back his chair and gets up. Q follows suit. They both put the chairs back to the table, Bond buttons his jacket and they wait for the Rodneys to do the same. They surely have enough decorum to see them off. 

 

Not only they have, but Mrs Rodney insists on giving them at least one roll of rolled meat and some of the smashed potatoes, since Q has barely touched his meal and she hates how skinny he is. She indeed is a nice woman; at least she appears to be one. 

Mr Rodney looks sceptically as always and Q suspects an inevitable thought – he knows. He doesn’t like the man the same he doesn’t like them and he can’t help himself to find even a nip of trust in the man. He is a terrorist of no less bad nature than Blofeld after all. 

They better get out of the mansion as soon as possible before one of the guards or Rodney himself finds out that something key is missing. 

They get on the same limousine as earlier and tell the driver to take them to the hotel for they have all their materials in there. They don’t mention they don’t go anywhere afterwards. 

 

The moment they enter their suite, James Bond bursts out with laughter. Q doesn’t see that coming; well, how could he?

“What?” he asks uncomprehendingly. “What’s so funny, James?” Q closes the door and walks to the sofa. He takes off the uncomfortable jacket and loosens the cravat. Then he realises he said _James_ instead of addressing the agent _Bond_ or _007_ as usual and he is startled by the fact a little. He looks at Bond to see his reaction, but the Double-Oh doesn’t even wink, because he still can’t catch his breath and must lean against a coat-stand. 

Bond needs a while to compose himself. When he does, he looks at Q as he walks past him to the kitchen, carrying a plastic box with the food Mrs Rodney gave him and replies, still chuckling (rather adorably, crosses Q’s mind), “Nothing. I guess I’m really getting old, because I’ve never experienced something like today before.” Q raises a questioning eyebrow at him, which makes Bond explain. “Being on a ridiculous dinner with my Quartermaster and two terrorists of whom one is actually nice instead of trying to catch and torture me, having you steal the most important flash drive in the world right under their nose, getting a kiss from you and a box with a rolled meat from said terrorists that I actually consider eating. Like I said, never before.” Bond takes off his jacket as well and puts it on the dining table instead of the coat-stand because it simply is closer.

That is probably the longest sentence Q ever heard from Bond. When he says it, Q realises it does sound ridiculous and must admit it is the craziest mission he has ever heard of, let alone has been a part of. He snorts. If he were stressed before, it is all worn off by now.

Bond puts the box on the countertop and opens the fridge, from which he pulls out a bottle of wine, not drugged this time. He also takes two glasses and two plates. It seems he has decided that they _are_ going to eat the meat. He obviously trusts Mrs Rodney not to poison it. Q notices he is quite hungry – well, he ate not much more than nothing – and trusts Bond with trusting the roll. He is going to eat it then. Just this once. 

He moves to the side of the grey leather sofa to make space for Bond: he refuses to get up and go to the table. He is tired, given all he has done in last few weeks and that tiredness showed itself in full extent after the flash-drive act. Being the Quartermaster of MI6 is still bloody exhausting, even when he’s not present at Q-Branch himself.

The meal is still warm, so it does not need reheating. Bond divides the potatoes into two portions and carves the meat in thin slices. He analyses the roll’s safety via smelling it before he puts two slices on each plate and carries it to Q. Q takes his plate and waits for Bond to bring cutlery and wine glasses. Bond serves white wine, he takes note. He always preferred that to red or rose. 

This is actually a well spent evening after all. Eating supper cooked by the target of his and 007’s common mission on a sofa in a hotel suite in South Africa with Bond by his side – Q would never think that he would ever consider that as a good time he enjoys – yet, he does and can’t think of a time he was more content and considerably happier than now.

 

They eat in silence. No one says a word the entire time, which suits them perfectly. The only sound filling the silence in the room is an occasion clink of the cutlery or a glass laid on the coffee table after being lifted and drunk from. 

The rolled meat tastes as deliciously as the hors-d’oeuvres, perhaps it’s better even. Q especially likes the stuffing. It does not prove poisoned. 

They drink the entire bottle up, but none of them feels any tipsy. Bond has developed a certain alcohol tolerance in years of excessive drinking and Q drinks less than a half of it, which does not have any effect yet. 

Q offers Bond help with washing the plates after they both finish eating, which the older man of course does not accept, but Q gets up and helps him with it regardless of what Bond says. He already missed the sleep period and won’t fall asleep for next three hours; that is for sure. 

Bond in the end has no other option than to let the stubborn Quartermaster do the washing on his own and watch him while doing it, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his hair falling in his face. 

When Q is finished with it, Bond appears from behind him with another bottle of white wine apparently miraculously conjured up from nowhere. Q doesn’t remember having three bottles in the fridge. “Care to have one more drink with me, husband?” he jokes as he steps dangerously close to Q to take the cork-screw from the drawer that is just between the younger man and a wall. Q is put in an unpleasant position with his body pressed against the countertop and Bond does nothing to ease the situation. Q looks him in the piercing blue eyes and finally brings himself to reply, “Of course, husband.” 

On the other hand, Q might be slightly inebriated by now, because what he does the following moment neither Bond nor Q expects. He smiles at the blond man widely and pulls closer to him to press a kiss on his lips. It’s a soft kiss at first, but then Q surprisingly opens his mouth and Bond follows suit, completely relaxing into the kiss, forgetting Q is technically his superior. Their tongues slip out of their mouths and they begin tasting, exploring. Q puts one arm round Bond’s waist and the other on his neck, caressing it with his fingers. Bond lays the bottle he still holds on the desk and attempts to run his right hand through Q’s hair as he desired to do the entire time, but suddenly Q pulls away, red flushing his cheeks and neck.

“I-I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately,” the Quartermaster blunders out, ashamed. He certainly felt something and wanted to kiss him again—but this was _James Bond_ of whom he was speaking, and that would never end otherwise than in a broken heart, he tells himself. But he hears Bond saying, “There’s definitely nothing to be sorry about, Q, we’re already married, aren’t we?” Then Bond pulls in for another deep, fierce kiss and fuck it all, that man kisses wonderfully, better than Q ever imagined. If this is going to end up in nothing more than a one-night stand, so be it. Q did not kissed anyone, let alone had anyone in so long and god, he needs this.

Q lets go of every scruple and draws Bond closer to him by his waist. 

This is a well spent evening indeed.

 

**two years later**

“Q?” the Quartermaster hears his moniker being called from the kitchen. 

“Yes, James?” he calls back and lifts his eyes from the screen of his laptop. He yawns. What can he want this time at 6:48 am?

“Where is that spoon you use to make scrambled eggs?”

Q can’t believe he is hearing that question again. “We live here for two months and you still don’t remember?” he retorts dryly, raising his voice for the older man to hear it clearly. “You’re impossible. At the back of the second drawer from the top, by the way.” Q sighs. He decides to stand up and better go to the kitchen himself, for he knows James has trouble finding anything in there, mainly because he does not cook very often and he isn’t present in the flat every day at all, due to his foreign missions, so he does not blame him for not knowing where every single spoon is placed, in the end. 

He gets out of the comforting warmth of the cover, puts the laptop aside and walks to the room two doors away, not putting his slippers on. He stops at the door to pat William, the tabby cat, on his back. He has no idea where has Kate, the grey and fluffy one, gone now. She most likely is in the kitchen, wheedling food from James. 

When he arrives to the kitchen he sees James rummage through said drawer, and he also sees he is wearing just a pair of striped pants and his Star Wars t-shirt again (but Q must admit James’ muscular body looks good in it), but the feline is somewhere out of his sight. _She probably is in the living room_ , he comes to a conclusion and dismisses the thought of their other cat. _Or maybe outside, who knows._ Instead, he focuses on James again. 

“Isn’t that why you married me?” he responds somehow belatedly and sneers. Q walks to him and finds required spoon forthwith, rolling his eyes. He straightens himself, giving the wooden spoon to James who smiles at him, pecks him on the lips and shuffles to the fridge to take out butter, eggs and bacon.

“Shut up,” Q barks humorously. “Oh, how I hate you sometimes.” Q says that more to himself than to James, but he hears it anyway and can’t refrain from responding to that note as well, “No, you don’t.”

“I’ll tell you that after you go back to bed with my eggs and a cup of tea as promised,” Q replies and turns round to get back to his work. “And without my t-shirt.” James can interpret that however he wants. 

 

Q would not imagine that even in a dream few years ago – living with James Bond as a husband and two cats in the centre of London, still working for MI6 and arguing over spoons and eggs with a deadly spy who his husband is. No, he has never thought they would end up like this.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you liked it :) Apologies for any inconsistencies, be it ICT or anything about Q's task. Or grammatical errors, commas especially, I'm not always sure in that area. Take it with a pinch of salt, it was meant to be just funny.  
> Kudos and comments always appreciated, let me know what you think so I can improve my writing.


End file.
